


Cronus & Son

by Baneberry



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dark, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:12:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6419698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blue-black sap is delicious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cronus & Son

**Author's Note:**

> Some short, random pre-48 Sunder/Froid smut. Dark, but completely consensual. It’s Sunder–there’s no fluff, and if there was, there’d be razor blades hiding in it. Beware some purple prose splatters here and there.
> 
> Dedicated to robo-hunter-chaim on tumblr, my dear pervert in arms.

Sunder couldn’t decide which he liked more: Froid’s desperate, needy little whiny-whimpers, or the taste of his body.

Sunder smirked against Froid’s channel, folds engorged, slick with coolant and lubricant. The gangly mech was stretched out along his lap, back bowing into an elegant curve before bucking into a squirming arch. Froid clutched at Sunder’s knees and legs for purchase; he felt small in the former mnemosurgeon’s hands, but even smaller in the sneering bastard’s gaze.

“What a conundrum you’ve put me in,” Sunder hummed. He ran his long, thick tongue slowly up between the channel folds, pressing down and pulling. Froid slid with him, groaning, his grip on Sunder’s legs tightening. Sunder licked him again, more lubricant wetting his tongue. “No,” he said, venting warm air against the quivering channel, “I think I know now. Yes, I think I know which.”

Froid keened, optics widening in bright shock as Sunder buried his face against his channel, plunging his tongue inside. His walls and claspers clenched around the large appendage before relaxing, and Sunder’s laugh both tickled and taunted. Purring, the giant monster nuzzled a moment before drawing his tongue out. He pressed the edge against Froid’s anterior node, pushing it up and back.

Froid moaned. “S-Sun–” He threw his head back with a small cry, choking on the sound and spittle in his throat. Sunder squeezed his thighs, digging fingers into the metal, easily leaving behind dents in the shape of half-moons in the white and blue plating.

“I could split you apart, if I wanted,” Sunder said, his voice a low playful drawl, “taste the rest of you. So dirty, this, but it’s not the dirtiest thing you have to offer.”

Froid tensed up as one of Sunder’s hands slid down, slipping beneath the stiff frame. Sunder placed his hand over Froid’s spark, lightly tapping a rhythm with his fingers.

“But of course not,” Sunder sneered, lapping shallowly at the channel, “I would not do that to a dear friend. Even one with claws like daggers, designed perfectly for stabbing one in the back.”

Froid huffed, plating rattling. He buried his face against Sunder’s leg, shyly grinding back against the mech’s mouth and rolling tongue.

“And, as my friend, you’ll help me, won’t you? As my friend, as my therapist even, you’ll see my needs are met?”

Froid winced. A hand circled his waist–just one hard squeeze, he’d be crushed.

“ _This_ won’t be enough to feed me, Froid,” Sunder grumbled, puffing air against the channel, “you know that; you’ve always known that.” The hand uncoiled from around his waist, sliding down his back, pushing down against the nape of Froid’s neck. “And, if what you say is true, about your past catching up with you…”

Froid was too weak to struggle. It hurt, but he allowed Sunder to take his face in one hand, squeeze his cheeks tightly, and turn his head so they could meet eyes.

Well, one pair of eyes, at least.

“This won’t be a problem, will it?” Sunder asked, holding Froid in this awkward position. His backstrut was curled painfully, twisted halfway around.

“N-No,” Froid croaked, optics dim and lidded, “I t-told you… He won’t be a p-problem.”

Sunder looked at him with that hollow stare, tilting his head. Then, he grinned, and let Froid’s face go. “Of course not,” he chuckled, “because he’s not your friend anymore. I’m your friend, isn’t that right?”

“R-Right.”

Sunder hummed, a deep rumbling noise in his throat. He pat Froid twice on the cheek, the second time a little harder than need be. “Right,” he repeated. Then, without missing a beat, he flipped Froid over onto his back, pulling him up his legs and torso; keeping his legs open and thrown over his shoulders, he buried his face back into Froid’s channel, tongue probing deep inside of the writhing, smaller mech’s body.

Froid sobbed, shaky fingers sliding over his optics. “H-Harder…” he whispered in a strained, tiny voice.

Sunder chuckled, and the vibrations earned him a whimper. _I wonder_ , he said over their private commlink, his voice a ghost echoing in the fog and haze of Froid’s mind, _who is the bigger glutton? And for which more–pain, or pleasure?_

Froid did not answer.


End file.
